


diminutive

by bokutoma



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Emotions, F/M, boar prince supreme, dimitri being fucking sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: vignettes of a quiet love





	1. the beginning

There are things Dimitri is good at. He knows this because it has to be true, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. His lance skills outshine even Ingrid, and authority has always been something that comes naturally to him, a product of his royal breeding. Sylvain says he’s got a lot of compassion, and Felix says the same (but with a lot more vitriol). There _are_ things he’s good at.

Knowing what to do with romantic feelings is not one of them.

The logical answer is to ask Sylvain, but it’s not as though he’s known for being particularly discreet, and anyway, his type of romance isn’t what Dimitri wants.

Either way, it’s not as though he had the good sense to fall head over heels for someone who’s likely to return his feelings. The fewer people that know the source of his idiocy, the better.

It’s Professor Byleth, of all people, who’s caught his attention.

She isn’t the sort of person he would have imagined himself falling for, because he’s the sort that imagines these things, tries to plan where his life will take him. It’s always been an idle process, though, because if he were to define a “type”, it would simply be indescribable. He can’t make things easy on himself in any situation, it seems.

Byleth is not like the other women (_woman_, really) he’s found attractive, all solemn eyes and flat voice, and yet the frenetic energy of her blade and fierce determination feel eerily reminiscent of those simpler days. He’s not a person that copes well with mystery (he’d called her unfeeling once, thoughtless in his assumption that she truly was, and that was the first time he’d ever seen her facade crack), but when she smiles and compliments someone, the pure strength of her feeling makes him forget any misgivings.

It’s futile, he knows. Perhaps a regular noble would find himself empowered by his position, but Dimitri knows that it makes him a child compared to her and her experiences. Even if he wasn’t younger than her (because despite _that_ mystery, there’s no way that’s not true), he’s spent his life in relative safety. He will never know the world in the intimate way that she does, and because of this, he knows she finds him naive, innocent in most things. That is not the trait of a partner, but a student, and there is only room for one.

Besides, despite her initial lack of interest, he knows that Byleth’s job means the world to her now, and Dimitri is fairly certain that being courted by the prince of Faerghus is a definite no as far as what’s allowed.

He sees her with her father sometimes, huddled together and talking as though every word is a secret not meant for unworthy ears. Of course, that’s probably true, but when he sees her crack a smile at one of Alois’s terrible jokes, he can’t help the jealousy that garrotes his heart.

It would be better, he knows, to give up on this stupid notion entirely, but when they talk, house leader to professor, he catches glimpses of a woman so resolute, so utterly strong and yet so vulnerable, that he knows it’s fruitless to even try.

One day, he will be able to shake himself from this delusion; even if she smiles more readily around him, she spars more regularly with Felix and takes tea with Sylvain. He is not special, not in the way he wishes he was.

Still, if he must always think of Byleth as his professor, there are worse fates.


	2. second chances

Once, Dimitri had been good at some things. He knows this to be an objective fact, because hindsight is crystal clear and he once had everything he could have wanted at his fingertips. Friends, home, a people who loved him...if Dimitri had been a better man, that would have been enough.

As it stands, however, Dimitri has been more beast than man for almost as long as he’s been alive, so when revenge had come calling (when the professor had left him alone and hollow, another ghost in his head), he had answered with the ferocity of the boar prince he was.

Now, Rodrigue is dead, and Byleth is alive but he’s pushed her away at every given opportunity. He doesn’t deserve happiness, but she looks at him strangely now, different than the sympathetic glances when he lashed out or the haunted stare she had work when she thought he wasn’t looking. It’s something almost like pride, and he’s not sure he can bear it, not when he’s shoved her to the side when all she’s ever done is help.

He thinks he loves her.

Absolutely _nothing_ had ever terrified him more.

Dimitri is good at some things. He is good at destroying and hurting and maiming and killing. He is good at corruption and death, but he is not good at vengeance. If he had been, he wouldn’t have screwed things up so royally.

If he loves her (and he does, oh Goddess, he does), he must make himself scarce. She thinks he deserves happiness, and perhaps one day he will, but even if they lived in a world where she could feel the same way, he will never have atoned enough to earn that.

She spends her time with Alois these days, and selfishly, he’s glad for it. Alois has a wife, a child, and he would never be the type to jeopardize that. Besides, they speak far too much of Jeralt for there to be any confusion in that regard.

Though she has grown close to all of them, these former Blue Lions and transplants, she no longer spends time with them the way she used to. Dedue says she takes her tea alone more often than not, sequestered in the greenhouse. She stays because the Duscur native would never bother her; he is no stranger to quiet contemplation.

Dimitri hears the gentle scolding in his bodyguard’s (_friend’s_) tone - it is he who occupies his former professor’s thoughts. It is he who worries her, who concerns her.

And, he knows, it is more than just the war that keeps her up at night.

There is a lot more that he had to feel guilty about than eavesdropping, but he hears her speak in the monastery one night, and he listens (he cannot get enough).

She’s praying, he discovers, though she isn’t religious. It’s odd, the way she does it. It’s charming, and he hates himself for relishing this private version of her.

“Sothis,” she says, and though he should find the casual use of the Goddess’s name blasphemous, it feels like her defying tradition.

“I know you can’t hear me,” she whispers in the dark before Saint Seiros. “But please, help me make Dimitri smile.”

But though Dimitri is good at some things, he’s almost certain that love will never be one of them.

He will never be the man Byleth deserves.


	3. push

There are things Dimitri is good at. He’s beginning to believe it now that the war is starting to come to an end; Byleth is a clever tactician, but she’s not so good with large crowds, and now that he’s feeling a little more human, he’s taken to rallying the troops in her stead. He’s not quite certain why they follow his lead, by they trust him after all he’s done since Edelgard’s initial attack, but it must be due to the support of his former classmates. Mercedes can make anyone feel at ease, and though Felix and Sylvain will never admit to it - both for different reasons - he’s seen the way they’ve covered for him, the way they’ve presented a united front as the nobility of Faerghus.

The soldiers respond to his words like supplicants before the church, and he wonders why they place so much faith in him, why they put stock in anything he says when he’s failed them already. Dedue reminds him that he’s still their king, and they listen because his wisdom and leadership outweigh the mistakes he’s made along the way.

His laugh is bitter when he relays this is Byleth, who he clings to for support more than is strictly proper. They’ve gotten closer since Rodrigue’s death; even now, he cannot help looking to her for guidance, and she is as patient as ever. Though she is not markedly more expressive on a day-to-day basis, there’s been a shift from her days as his professor, and she often greets him with a small smile that sets something in his chest dangerously close to catching aflame.

Loving her comes as naturally as breathing.

They sit on the battlements of Garreg Mach sometimes, just a man and a woman attempting to shed the weight of responsibility. He worries he’ll slip back into his old ways, because nothing is as simple as he so desperately tries to make it. The feral boar - because Felix has always been right, there’s always been a part of him that’s savage and terrible - claws at the corners of his conscious mind. mouth foaming and eyes bloodshot. There is no one else with a convincing claim to the throne, no one who even _wants_ his position, but he worries he is unfit, that he’s always just a misstep away from tumbling off the edge.

Byleth is sent by the Goddess, he’s certain, because in those moments, it’s her hand on his shoulder that grounds him when he’s on the verge of spiraling into panic.

“I can’t continue this way,” he confesses to her, legs dangling over the wall. This high up, he’s a little sickened by the sight of the ground below, but he makes himself look as penance for every misdeed he’s committed. “All this endless violence, death without limit or end. It makes me ill.”

“I know,” she says. “I feel it too.”

He wonders how he ever thought her to be unfeeling.

“You’re worried you’ll start to enjoy it, right?” He almost flushes under her gaze; she sees him better than those who have known him for the entirety of his life. “I know you, Dimitri. Even when you were lost, you didn’t enjoy what you were doing. You’ve had to bear to burden of an entire kingdom for far longer than anyone should, especially as a child. If you falter, I’ll be there to support you. You don’t have to endure this alone.”

It’s a longer speech than she ever really gives, and he can’t help the smile that comes or the tears that slip past his guard. She leans against him, pulling him back from the precipice of loneliness with her warmth, and he loves her, he loves her, _he loves her._

There are things Dimitri is good at, and with Byleth’s help, he’s going to put this war to an end so he can capitalize on them.


	4. valiance

There are things that Dimitri is unsure about. That’s probably unsurprising, considering the combination of his age, circumstances, and position, but now, the day before the invasion of Enbarr, this is beginning to weigh on him more heavily than ever.

Their ragtag team had made it further than his desperate, vengeance fueled march would have, but there’s no guarantee that will carry them through the fights to come. For one, Hubert still waits for them, lurking like a Demonic Beast in the streets. The man is all tricks, assassins in the night and poison in the cup, and Dimitri is doing his best to stave off the paranoia that hamstrings his lungs. The skies are heavy with grief these days, and he is terrified.

Byleth has enough belief for both of them.

The camp should be thick with tension now, and though it’s there, present in Felix’s subdued manner and the shift in Annette’s research focus, it’s far more subtle than he would have expected. Mercedes sings, still as melodic as ever, and Sylvain has taken off time from his endless pursuit to brush careful hands and gentle words along everyone’s spines.

“We’ll be okay,” Byleth says as they walk back to the restored dorms. Their hands brush as they move, and Dimitri can’t help the way his breath catches every time. “I have faith in us, in the army you lead.”

“You’ve been the one leading it,” he mumbles. “If anything, I have faith in you.”

It’s a little like a love confession, but he finds it hard to care when each day could be their last. Edelgard lingers, an ever present threat to the calm he’s worked so hard to achieve. Still, in the shadows of Garreg Mach, this place where he first came alive, he feels like he can spill the secret wishes of his heart without consequence, confess anything without the threat of damnation.

Byleth stops, though, and when he turns to face her, there’s an odd mixture of sadness and determination in her gaze. Her hands reach for his shoulders (she’s so _small_) and tangle in the fur of his cloak, and for a dazzling second, he thinks she’s going to kiss him.

Instead, she says, “Dimitri.”

All of the air in the world has been stolen from him.

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” she continues. “You are stronger, braver, and far more valiant than a hundred Adrestian soldiers. You may be the future king, but none of us would follow you if we didn’t believe in you. You are the king of our hearts.”

If it weren’t for the light of the lantern they carried, he would think that Byleth was blushing.

“You are the north star I set my heart by,” he confesses, and when Byleth smiles, he finds he no longer cares who awaits them in Enbarr. With this memory safeguarded in his heart, there’s no possible outcome where they are not victorious.


	5. finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bed sharing episode

There are things that Dimitri is good at, and it turns out that outsmarting Hubert has become one of those things. Minimal civilian casualties means minimal guilt and weight on his shoulders, and the citizens of Enbarr seem to be _grateful_, which is a twist of fate he hadn’t expected.

The air in the heart of the Lions’s base in the city is almost celebratory, but the tingle of pain in the air is all too palpable. He wants to enjoy this time with the others, revel in their victory before they have to be _on_ again, but there’s a voice in his head that tells him he doesn’t deserve it. It’s not quite what he had heard before, Lambert and Patricia and Glenn and a thousand other separate voices, but rather a twisted version of his own.

Still, Byleth is there for him. They huddle together in what was, until recently, the master bedroom of the Vestra estate. Part of him idly wishes that this was something more than comfort, that he could desecrate Hubert’s memory on the bed he slept in. It’s a horrible thought, though, and he’d never say anything of the sort to her. She’s gentle with him, more gentle than he deserves (except that’s not true, he reminds himself, he’s been trying his best and everyone deserves the chance for kindness), and guilt roils in his stomach at the thought he might be taking advantage of her.

“I’m tired,” she says, leaning against him as they stand by the window, looking at tomorrow’s battlefield.

“Oh, forgive me for keeping you,” he says, but he finds he can’t move, not when she’s pressed up so close against him.

“You’re not.” She tilts her head up and smiles at him, small and real and wonderful. He adores her more than anything. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

All thoughts of doom and what he deserves leave his mind in a flash, and he finds himself heating up with a blush that can probably be seen all the way back in Fhirdiad. “_What_?”

To his surprise, Byleth reddens as well. “Not like that,” she mumbles, and his heart stutters in his chest at the thought of her being embarrassed for the same reason on him. “I just...you’re a comfort to me. I’m not sure how well I’ll rest with you in another room.”

“Please forgive me if I’m being too forward, but are you suggesting we sleep in the same bed?”

Her hands came up in front of her, twisting nervously, and frankly, he’s never been more endeared. “Only if you’re okay with it, Dimitri. I know it’s probably improper of me to even ask, considering your position.”

The air hangs heavy between them, and with her eyes downcast, he can’t tell what she’s thinking.

_Do you love me_? It’s an impossibility. _Do you want me like I want you_? It’s incredibly unlikely. Still...

“Of course.” He bows deeply, hoping to the Goddess that his formal manner will carry him through this in one piece. “I suppose I should disrobe, then.”

She nods, finally meeting his eyes again, and though he can’t quite interpret the emotion there, it feels something like companionship when she unbuckles the first piece of her armor.

It’s a silent affair, the way they bare themselves. They’re by no means immodest: she’s still wearing the cropped shirt with a cutout he attempt not to stare at, not to mention a pair of shorts, and he’s wearing his undershirt and underwear. Still, it feels like something spiritual, this accidental ritual they’ve created, and for a moment, he thinks about what life might be like, after Her. It’s bad luck to plan for an eventuality that might never actually come to pass, but if he has this to look forward to, this bond with the woman who has torn apart the world for him, he finds he had something real to fight for. Even if this is the most he ever gets, he will cherish it with everything he has.

The sheets are rather sparse for a noble, but that’s unsurprising, considering who this manor formerly belonged to. They’re still for softer than their bedrolls, however, and Byleth lets out a quiet sigh that shivers its way down his spine as they slip under the covers.

All is dark and quiet for a moment, and just as he gets used to the feeling of her hip against the flat of his stomach, she rolls over and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well, Dimitri,” she whispers.

“Sleep well, Byleth,” he replies, drifting off as his hand tangles with hers.


	6. moving forward

There are things Dimitri is good at, but moderation is certainly not one of them. He is not the only person that’s worked to get them here, in front of the palace of Enbarr (Her lair) with all but a few defenses stripped away; in fact, he’d been a detriment. Still, this feels good, and though he’s not certain the voices of the dead will ever truly leave him, those of the living ring louder.

Byleth is beside him, and he has the strength of an army.

Their frontal assault is a ridiculous tactic, really, especially given that She will almost certainly have a thousand tricks up her sleeve. Still, they are all soul weary, and they will be outmatched but for their skill and speed. It’s the only tactic they really have left to rely upon, mostly because it’s so idiotic, no one could possibly expect it.

They are almost at the end, and tension grabs him in a chokehold so intense he can’t breathe.

This is how Byleth finds him, curled up and clutching at his chest with feverish desperation.

“You’ll be okay,” she says, her voice like what he remembers honey in his tea tasting like, sweet and substantial and everything he loves. “We will take what is ours, and then we’ll be okay.”

“Both of us?” he asks, tremulous hope clawing its way from his throat with heated talons.

She smiles widely, that look that always dazzles him right to his core. “Of course. The two of us have each other’s backs, just like everyone else out there.”

She’s lovely, his goddess made flesh, all pale green and wondrous in the moonlight, and if he’s going to die come morning light, if any of them will, then he needs this chance.

“I need you, professor,” he says. _Beloved._ “By my side. Don’t leave me for even a moment.”

“You cannot shake me even if you try,” she says, taking his hand in her own, so small compared to him, to everything they have accomplished. If she can wake from the dead to fulfill one promise, he can trust that she will not break this one either.

Though terror wracks his body as they dive into the belly of the beast, he holds tight to these words as his shield. Magic crashes down from sources unknown, but between Annette, Mercedes, and the transplants who have made their home with the Lions, they dish back as good as they got. The Sword of the Creator is liquid fire in Byleth’s hands, and Areadbhar cleaves through flesh like butter.

They will win. He will not have vengeance, but justice.

Though he still has not earned it, he has the unflinching loyalty of each and every one of his men, even Felix, who he’s wounded above all others. They will defeat the Empire soundly.

Then they enter the throne room and see the monster Edelgard has become, and he despairs.


	7. madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is sponsored by lauren!! thanks so much!

Edelgard is the monster that Dimitri knows her as. This comes as no surprise - he’s seen her for who she truly is even before he knew her as the Flame Emperor - but a physical manifestation of the hatred she has bestowed upon the continent is beyond what even he thought her capable of. Perhaps he should know better.

He never learns.

There is a choked sound that rings out like the clang of weaponry in the room that now grows silent; briefly, Dimitri worries that he is its creator, but no, that honor belongs to Sylvain.

_Miklan_, his face seems to say. _Is this what destiny looks like_?

Dimitri refuses to let it end this way. Edelgard has her ideals, as twisted and ridiculous as he finds them, but he has his.

Beside him, Byleth tenses, the Sword of the Creator temporarily swapped out for Failnaught. (It should eat her alive; it does not surprise him that even these unassailable roles bow to her will.)

He has _hers_.

Maybe she feels his stare, this goddess made flesh, because she looks at him and gives him the fiercest smile he’s ever seen. If fate has led him down this path for that to be his reward, he finds he will be content.

The beast that is Edelgard, Empress of Adrestia, lets out a mighty roar, and cold gray lights crashes down on him like a massive executioner’s blade. Perhaps he might have fallen to this once, but Dimitri has always had an exorbitant wealth of strength.

He slides his javelins free from its home at his back, the one that he got invading Enbarr, the one that slew Hubert. It seems a fitting end for this piece, he thinks, and with all the power he possesses, he sends it flying into his enemy, his childhood best friend’s, heart.

When she falls, Byleth slips to his side, and though he cannot feel her through sweat and blood and gore, she is warm.


	8. an ending, a beginning

Edelgard is dead, or she should be,

Dimitri does not worry about the logistics of these things anymore; trying only makes his head spin, and he’s had enough of confusion for a lifetime. Edelgard was a monster, then she had fallen, and now she’s here, exhausted and kneeling before her own throne.

_This is how it should be_, the old voices whisper, but mostly, he’s just sorry.

He misses the old days, when she wore her name like an ill-fitting tiara and El was a mantle that fit much better. He wishes she had not wanted to change the world, wishes she could have settled for Adrestia.

The same pain resonates in Byleth. He can see it in the crease of her brow as they approach. Dimitri is good at some things, but he does not know what to do when confronted by her agony. Perhaps if this were another life, she would be by Edelgard’s side, helping her through this madness instead of him.

She looks at him then, and he finds the question is not worth repeating, not when she sees him as the man he wishes he was.

In her gaze, he finds the strength to reach out his hand to the woman she loathes above all else (who he misses more than he ever could have thought possible).

Edelgard does not take it.

He sees the movement a split second before it happens, and then the dagger he’d given her once upon a time, before her hair had turned white and his mind to a chorus, embeds itself in his shoulder.

Her aim is off; her strength is great enough to punch through his armor and into his heart, he knows, if only she could. Still, it burns white-hot in a way he barely recognizes.

He yanks it free, heedless of the way the motion lets blood spill free and wild.

Byleth watches him carefully, the same question that she’s been asking since the whole affair began nearly tangible in the air between them.

_You or me_?

This time, there is only one answer, one time he will choose himself.

_Yes_! the voices cry. _This is your duty_, his own commands.

Even with one hand, he has enough power for his lance to punch through Edelgard’s armor like paper, and she crumples, lifeless and still.

It feels like a funeral march, walking side by side through the endless expanse of room. Byleth has not moved to still the bleeding of his shoulder, not that he’s noticed, but he can feel the blood begin to conceal anyway. She allows him this one last vice, and they are so close to healing he can nearly taste it.

When they reach the door, he can’t help but look back, the dagger he had received from his uncle on his seventh birthday spinning, blood-soaked, against the ground, forever laying to rest at the north of Edelgard’s corpse.

Then Byleth’s hand rests gently on his uninjured side, careful in the way no one else is because it isn’t something he deserves.

He turns away and walks back to his people, his friends, a conquering king of a once conquered kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter @kingblaiddyd


	9. reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is supported by lark! thanks so much <33333

There are things that Dimitri is good at, to be certain, but celebration hasn't been one of them since he was young.

The Lions, _his_ Lions, have somehow decided that they will be the ones to ensure he relearns the way, and somehow, it's working.

They've set up a makeshift band, Dorothea singing along as she dances among them, slipping between partners like water, never quite held. Sylvain has coaxed Felix into dancing with him, and though he'd learned to dance again at the academy, caving to Byleth's requests as they all did, eventually, Dimitri hadn't realized how truly skilled his childhood friend is until this moment.

Ferdinand has taken Flayn for a spin around the room under Seteth's watchful eye, and Ashe taps out the beat with his foot as he sits with Dedue, making good use of the food they'd managed to put together. Dorothea has stopped long enough to land on Ingrid, and the joy on their faces is palpable.

And Byleth...Byleth is there, off to the side, talking in hushed tones with the knights, those who had been her closest friends before her former students could be. She is radiant, clad in a plain dress she must have borrowed from Mercedes, and perhaps it should have dulled her, but instead, she is simply more stunning than ever before.

He wants to go to her more than anything, he with the bandaged shoulder and the wounded heart, but his feet no longer know how to move. He is tired, so dreadfully tired, and even without a beating heart, she has more life than he knows what to do with.

"Dimitri?" a voice from his side asks, and he startles only to see Annette, gentle and so fiercely determined. She has carried them all more than he ever could have asked for, this wisp of a woman, borne them on narrow shoulders and a gentle smile, and yet he's never seen her more frustrated than she looks now.

"How can I help you?" he asks, because he's not sure that he can, only that she needs something of him.

"You could dance with Byleth like I know you want to," she retorts, and he does his best not to sputter.

She offers him no quarter, though, only the insistent press of her hand that he cannot bring himself to disobey. Catherine laughs at their approach, disjointed and unorganized as it is, but she makes no comment as he fumbles his way through asking for a dance, ridiculous though he is. It's something to be grateful for, he supposes.

Neither are bad dancers per se, but they're tired and stiff with pain and nerves. Still, there's a certain natural cadence to their movements, a way they settle together naturally even through all the pain. _Perhaps because of it_, he thinks, because there has never been a person who has understood him like her.

If she would be the only one, he could be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter @kingblaiddyd!!!


	10. cusp

There are things that Dimitri is good at, and, to a certain degree, leadership has always been one of them; how sad would it have been to have been born and bred for it and _not_ be so?

Now that Edelgard has been crushed beneath the weight of her crimes, it's time to restore order to poor, long-suffering Faerghus, starting with Fhirdiad and his own family's territory. Galatea, Fraldarius, Gautier...even Charon will have stewards of its own to help. Blaiddyd could use a nurturing touch, though, and despite those lingering voices (his own, he knows, but that doesn't always make it easier) that tell him he will never know how, he's found that the remembrance of such things still lives within him. It comes out when he and Annette have tea together, laughing about days gone by, when Mercedes is patient and teaches him about finer things. The time he spends in quiet companionship with Dedue is precious to him, and Byleth...

What can't he say about Byleth that he hasn't already? She is light incarnate, all the good wishes he has never thought to have for himself willingly given. She has remained beside him when any sane person would have walked away; if she lets him, he will spend his whole life trying to make up for the wounds he must have inflicted on her.

For the first time since he can remember, he is okay being alone.

That isn't to say that he prefers it, of course. Any day is better when spent with his Lions, his people who know him better than anyone. His _people_, rather than just his subjects. Dedue has been with him on this journey to Fhirdiad, but solitude is good for both of them, he's learned.

Lists are also helpful, he has found.

One: make it back to the capital. The roads are still unstable after the influence of the Empire, and though both Dimitri and Dedue are more than capable of handling themselves, they're both still carrying wounds of their own.

Two: instill some sense of stability into Fhirdiad. Without a proper leader, the people have no choice but to suffer and revolt. If any progress is to be made, he will have to liberate the minds of his soon-to-be official subjects, as well as control from any vestige of Cornelia's.

Three: install a temporary regent. Margrave Gautier is the only suitable choice, or at least the only reasonable one. He has not yet had the chance to be coronated, and though he could do it just as soon as he reaches Fhirdiad, there is only one person he can imagine doing it.

Four: fly back to Garreg Mach, possibly literally. When he can see Byleth again, the rest of his life will fall into place.

The ring that sits heavy in his pocket promises him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kingblaiddyd time


	11. here it comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early chapter brought to you by an anonymous fan!

There are things that Dimitri is good at, and, to his own surprise, loving resides at the top of that list.

Perhaps Ingrid or Dedue would claim this to be obvious if he were to ask, but it's never felt that way, not in recent memory. To look down at the ring that rests solidly on his left ring finger and know that it was Byleth that put it there is almost more than he can bear. Three days past their lovestruck confession, and he is still in awe, looking down at it with an expression Mercedes calls "moonstruck" and Felix calls "fucking idiotic." She is never far, his beloved, but he fears he cannot disturb her, fears that if he pushes, she might disappear.

Some part of him, quiet and muffled though he tries to keep it, wonders if she is a mirage, wonders if all of this is just a happy dream.

She loves him. This is now incontrovertible. There is proof of it that lives with him always, and, were it not so precious to him, he would sleep with it on so as to never be parted from it. As it is, he already feels nervous, like one wrong twitch of his too clumsy hands will bend it beyond repair, beyond all recognition.

He has broken much worse, after all, literally and metaphorically.

All this doubt, though, it disappears as soon as he sees her. They're both preparing for the start of this new life, this united Fódlan, but she bears it with the same grace that she's borne all of this, ever since the very beginning. Even before he knew that her grace had a name.

It's almost here, almost the day when they will both take their places as leaders in their own right, and once they settle down, they can marry.

Goddess, if this is what he's fought for, it's all worth it for this.


	12. before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early update brought to you by kadmin!!

There are things that Dimitri is good at. He _knows_ this, believes it more than the him of five years ago could have ever hoped, yet here on the morning of his coronation, he cannot think of a single one.

"Breathe, Your Highness," Dedue says from the doorway, ever-present and ever steady. "You have worked hard for this."

A manic laugh bubbles in his throat as he grips his dresser, wood splintering beneath his gloved hands, and he tries desperately to tamp it down. "I know," he replies, and the solid oak grows ominously as he cringes away from the rawness of his own voice. "That's what scares me more than anything."

His retainer's footfalls are heavy by virtue of his armor as he approaches, and he has never been quite so grateful for the forewarning. "Dimitri."

How much of a fright must he look, to have Dedue so willing to drop his strict adherence to etiquette?

He's much better than he was a year ago, all fangs and drooling fury, but the so-called Savior King of Faerghus and Fódlan at large still has quite a few bad days. What he would give for the measured calm he had once been able to tug forth like a cloak over his shoulders in his academy days.

What he would give for all of his Lions, loving and loyal beneath fangs of their own!

"Dimitri, you must breathe." Dedue's hands are on his shoulders, and something about their reassuring weight drops the tension from them. "Just like that. In and out, Your Highness."

A knock sounds at the door.

Dedue, Goddess bless him, has his hackles up in protective irritation before Dimitri can even think to be anxious again. "Announce yourself," he calls as he strides forward in response, and the repeated _clank_ is enough to measure the way Dimitri pries his fingers from the wood.

"Byleth," calls that most beautiful of voices, and he could nearly sob in relief. "Could you let me in? I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

Dedue lets her in and quietly excuses himself to stand guard outside, and Dimitri brings his eye to meet hers.

She is radiant beyond belief.

He has seen her garbed in the traditional outfit of the archbishop before; he was there when Seteth had conducted her ascension. Still, he fears his mortal heart can't suffer her beauty without giving out.

Luckily for it, he isn't given much time to process the vision before him before he's being bundled into the warmest of hugs.

"Dima," she whispers, breath hot against his ear even as he shivers. "You've got this."

She's always known what to say and do, how to settle the fear that lingers inside him. She has even from the moment they met, when he was just a lost little lordling and she just a skilled mercenary willing to defend those she knew nothing of.

When he thinks of it that way, he's probably always been a little in love with her.

"You've got this," she repeats, and then she draws back, clear green eyes staring directly into the core of him, and favors him with a smile reserved just for him.

"I've got this," he says, and with her looking at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters, it might even be true.


	13. coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early update brought to you by ludo!

The coronation is here, and there is nowhere to run.

As it turns out, Dimitri doesn't want to.

His Lions sit behind him, below the dais that is meant to be his, but he needs no reassurance now. This is what he was born for, after all. That certainty has settled into his bones despite what lingering ghosts might have to say.

Byleth is before him, resplendent in her golden garb and the light filtering in through the windows, smiling as she prepares to guide him, just as she always has.

"Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, are you willing to take the Oath of Oaths?"

He does not hesitate for even a moment when he responds in the affirmative.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Fódlan, formerly known as the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the Adrestian Empire, and the Leicester Alliance, and of your Possessions and the other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?

"I solemnly promise to do so."

"Will you govern the aforementioned Peoples with equality, foregoing bias and previous allegiance?"

That's a new line, he knows, but one he is prepared for; it was he who asked Seteth and Byleth to add it in. He cannot remember the instructor ever appearing more proud. "I will, without question."

There is a faint cheer from his audience, followed by a far louder shushing. Despite this (or perhaps because of this), he is glad Dorothea and Ferdinand are here.

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

Byleth bids him kneel, and he obeys as he would regardless of circumstance. The oil that slicks the thumb that anoints him is warm from her body heat, and he receives her blessing gratefully.

Quickly, so quickly, she brushes that thumb against his lip, a subtle kiss in the middle of all this fanfare, and he is so in love that it hurts.

"Rise," she commands, and he does. "Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, with this final vow, you will become the sovereign of your nation. Do you accept the glory and the grief, the power and the responsibility that the Peoples of Fódlan entrust you with?"

"Unequivocally."

"Then rise, people of Fódlan, to meet your new ruler! Long live Dimitri, Savior-King of your country!"

When his Lions, his friends, and his subjects echo back Byleth's words, Dimitri, for once, doesn't feel like a sham.


	14. longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early post brought to you by ludo <333

There are things that Dimitri is good at, and one of those is leadership, especially when he is of sound mind and body. One thing he has not yet mastered, however, is how to be king. Perhaps in times past he might have buckled under the weight of this failure - and indeed, there have been many nights he has shuddered alone in his room, wracked with sobs and tears that would not come - but in the scant few months since his coronation, he has made an effort to lead by example.

(And in those darkened nights, if those who remain in Fhirdiad visit him under the guise of business to lend a hand, then he is luckier than words can express. He knows that not all are that fortunate.)

His wedding has taken longer to announce than they had initially planned. In some respects, this is another fact that has sent him reeling, sent him clattering apart like every skeleton he has ever laid eyes on. Still, if there is anything that he can believe in, it's that Byleth will not be impatient with him. Besides, she has endless tasks of her own to attend to.

That does not make the women that court him, whether by their own choice or by that of their family, any easier to bear.

Fortunately, there are no tributes (as Dimitri once heard Sylvain refer to them) sent from the territories of his friends; they all know of his engagement, after all.

That does not, however, dissuade those not in the know. Not even the sight of an unfamiliar ring on the Savior-King's hand during his coronation could sway the hopes for a political match.

Fortunately, most of the women he encounters are gracious and understanding when he explains his situation.

"It's not that I'm not eager to marry her, you understand," he says with a look on his face that must be dreamy, for what else can he feel when confronted with the wonderful reality of his soon to be wife? "It's only that...well, we're so fresh from the war, and there's so much to do. We don't want anyone to believe we're shirking our duties, and there will be time for romance when everything is more settled."

Mostly, they coo, and regardless of whether their enthusiasm is faked, it feels _good_ to talk about Byleth. A few ask who his fiancée is, and though he cannot fault them for their curiosity, he also cannot answer them.

There are a few, though, who press their luck. He tries not to lose his temper at them, misguided though they may be, but he is certain that sparks still flash in his eyes. It's Dedue who escorts them out, usually, and if they make a fuss about his closest friend's origins, he has no qualms about letting them know they are not welcome to a private audience with him again.

Byleth writes him with news of her progress, so he does as well. He makes the mistake of mentioning this little problem, only to find that she thinks it's funny.

_Dima_, she writes, and even that is enough to make him smile. _Please tell me about these adventures in every letter you write. It will warm my heart to think of you navigating the waters while I am away, for it can only be a fraction of the irritation I feel at having to be parted from you._

_Yours,_

_Byleth_


	15. faster now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update brought to you by ludo! <333

There are things that Dimitri is good at, and, as sovereign of an entire continent's worth of people, it turns out that one of those things is moving mountains to get what he wants.

_Beloved,_ he writes fervently, both on nights where sleep eludes him and on those where it waits behind every corner. _I miss you so dearly that I can scarcely breathe but for the absence of you. Please tell me you can tear yourself away from your new duties, even if just for a day. I understand that we cannot yet marry, and I follow your judgment, as you have never steered me astray. Nevertheless, my very bones ache for your company, and my blood sings with the memory of your touch. I desire you more than I have desired anything, and you more than anyone should know how desperate that makes me. Please write back soon. I am, as ever, your devoted servant._

_Dima,_ she writes back, and though the quality of her handwriting has improved since the days of the academy (almost certainly at Seteth's insistence), he can still trace the lines of her script where they wobble, bordering on scribbling. _You have always been such a poet, and I admit that hearing of your impatience does help assuage some of my own, no matter how selfish that may seem. I have all but begged Seteth for a moment's reprieve, and you will be overjoyed to learn that I have persuaded him to help me find a weekend away. By the time you receive this letter, I will be on my way to you. Expect me shortly, my love. I am, as ever, desperately missing you._

Dimitri is not embarrassed to admit that he is _more_ than overjoyed to hear of this, and when he is done swanning about, head in the clouds, he oversees the preparation for Byleth's arrival personally. Missives are sent to those territories that are close enough that they might catch her before her departure, and he throws himself into his work with a vigor that might rival Felix's passion.

There is little real fanfare for her arrival, and though he knows she prefers it that way, he wishes he could scream his excitement from every window in the continent. Instead, he settles for wrapping her in a firm embrace when the only onlookers are trusted friends.

"Oh, my beloved," he says, face buried in the soft fall of her hair. He is not ashamed to note the prickle of tears against his lashes. "How dearly I have missed you."

"If you'll release this beastly grip you have on me, I have news for you," she teases in return. Still, when he pulls back, he can see the joy in her own eyes, in the tiny smile that quirks her lips and the slight crinkle of her nose. "I suspect you'll be quite pleased with it."

"I doubt that I could be displeased with anything you have to tell me." Felix gags at that, and Sylvain mockingly swoons, but this how they've always been, and Dimitri knows that this is how they show their affection, even if they want some of their friend's attention as well.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, and when he bends down to meet her, her breath tickles against his ear. "I have a date for our wedding."

If he staggers back as though he's been hit, a broad, idiotic smile stretching across his face, he thinks he can be excused. He's never been happier, after all.


	16. resound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early update brought to you by lark! thanks so much <3

When he recovers enough to note that Byleth has relayed this news to the others that are gathered with them - though only Dedue, Felix, Ashe, and Sylvain are nearby, he has no doubt that the news will reach their more far-flung friends soon enough - Dimitri cannot stem the tide of his questionings for the wave of cheers or for a literal natural disaster.

"When?" he asks, the words tumbling forth like a tsunami.

"When did I have time to determine a date?" Byleth teases, and his heart aches so wonderfully at the sight of this, one of the widest smiles he has ever seen from her. "Why, I've been working it out with Seteth for months, love."

Even Felix cannot bring himself to put on a show of rejecting this softness between them.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it." He furrows his brow and pretends to be angry, but no matter what, he can't quite bring himself to wipe the smile off his face. "How cruel you are, to toy with my emotions in such a manner."

"Yeah, professor," Sylvain interjects, even as Ashe elbows him with a muttered aside about _respecting the sanctity of the moment._ "Some of us have been waiting for this moment with bated breath, you know, and we've gotta clear our schedules to make sure we can be there to support such a blessed union!

"Never say _blessed union_ again," Felix adds with a sharp look to the man at his side, but even he has the smallest of smiles twitching at his lips. "I don't think you of all people have any business talking about that."

It's Dedue that puts a pause to the friendly chaos that ensues, the treasure that he is, because Dimitri is too busy reveling in the future he can almost taste and Byleth is too happy to bear witness to the squabbles of the people she loves so dearly. Even Ashe has been drawn into Sylvain and Felix's good-natured bickering, but when Dedue clears his throat, they all manage to remember what it is they're waiting for.

"Archbishop," he says, nodding respectfully even as Byleth suppresses a laugh at the deferential way he still refers to her, even after all these years.

"Thank you, my friend." The full force of her luminous gaze returns to him then, and Dimitri feels his breath catch in his lungs. "I suppose I have held out on you all. How does the Ethereal Moon sound to you?"

Though that might be almost a year away, his heart aches with the prospect of _soon_, and though perhaps he should be bouncing around with elation, all he can do is tremble. "_Goddess,_ yes. The sooner, the better, and this is sooner than I would have dared hope."

"Send us the official date when you get His Majesty working again," Sylvain says with a wink. "I'm a busy man, you know."

Dedue all but drags the others out by force, but Dimitri only has eyes for Byleth.

When the door shuts, they fall into each other, and he never wants to emerge again.


	17. tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my lateness! i am very tired

The advent of the Great Tree Moon means that Dimitri is even more busy than usual, especially when it comes to providing alternate education to six years' worth of Officer's Academy hopefuls. Garreg Mach, for all that they restored it during the war, is not yet suited to so many young adults running rampant among its storied walls, and Byleth is too new to her authority to be fully comfortable commanding is so many the way she had their merry few.

Nonetheless, she and Seteth both have sent their ideas for curriculum for him to distribute to the far corners of the continent, and by the time that Harpstring Moon rolls along, there seems to be a general order to things, as evidenced by his tour to each of the former capitals, starting in Fhirdiad and working his way to Derdriu and Enbarr.

Even through his stops in smaller villages for food and rest, those he has been able to broaden the scope of schooling seem to enjoy their work and take to it well, and the sight fills the king of Fódlan with more joy than he knows how to contain within himself.

_My beloved,_ he writes in Derdriu, fresh from a boat tour and glowing from the lance work that a boy no more than thirteen had demonstrated. _You cannot even fathom how much the country we fought so hard to preserve has grown since we came to Claude's aid those many months ago. The people have not forgotten, but they have recovered well from the horrors of war, and the city that our 'deer' friends, as Alois might call them, once spoke of so fondly now seems just as they described. Would that you were here, my love, for you would thrive in so vibrant a place._

_My beloved,_ he scribbles out in Enbarr, tired though he is after what had ostensibly been a friendly scrap with some of Edelgard's former guard, though the twinge in his bad shoulder named that a lie. _Enbarr is as lively as ever, though not, perhaps, in the way you might remember it best. There is still unrest, of course, but just the other day, I worked with a young girl to improve the swing of her axe. I almost called her El by mistake, but do not fret like I know you will upon reading this. Only pleasant memories arose. Maybe I will have better luck with this generation than the orphans of Garreg Mach. When next you travel here, I hope to be by your side._

They do not travel back through Garreg Mach, much to Dimitri's chagrin, but instead pass through Arianrhod. This does not stop him from composing his next message, however, and when the familiar wind-chilled spires of Fhirdiad greet him once more, he has more than enough for another message.

_My beloved,_ he scrawls from beneath the comfort of a quilt Mercedes had made for him as a coronation present. _I am home, and all this travel has served to teach me that I am not so adaptable as I once thought. The heats of the state of Adrestia are something fierce, as well you know. Regardless, even with exhaustion plaguing my bones, I long to see you once more. We still have a wedding to announce, after all._

_I remain, as ever, eternally yours._

And when he receives another reply, the empty envelope goes on a stack he's been collecting, all of them addressed to _Mityushka_.


	18. announcement

Six months. Half a year until Dimitri can wed his beloved. There may be a great many things that he is good at, but waiting for this might be the death of him.

When he says this to Ingrid, though, she only scoffs, a fond if exasperated smile blooming on her face. "You've survived much worse, Your Majesty," she says, laughing when he pulls a face at her formality. "I think you can live unmarried for a moment or two longer."

He begs to differ.

Now, though, Byleth is back, and with her comes the opportunity to announce their engagement. The timing will be far briefer than is entirely regular, but there have been enough rumors floating about the rings that both the king and the archbishop wear, separately and together, to alleviate many of the more traditional concerns. Besides which, there have been extenuating circumstances. If there is an uproar over this, then it will be unfortunate but otherwise not worth his time.

She is the one thing he will never compromise on.

"Knock knock," comes a voice at the door, one he is all too familiar with. "Are you almost ready?"

"Come in, my beloved." He straightens the front of his celebratory attire - more casual than his usual public attire, though not by much - and faces the opening door with a wide smile.

Byleth looks resplendent; she too is wearing lighter garb than usual, in concession to the blazing heat and the unpredictable rains, and with Rhea's headpiece atop her soft hair, she looks every inch the beacon of hope she is meant to be. "You look handsome," she says, her smile widening. "But I'm always happy to stand by your side, Mitya."

He cannot stop the laugh that bubbles in his chest any more than he can prevent himself from pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, and when she snags him into something deeper, it takes all of his willpower to pull back and guide them to the balcony where they will make their announcement.

Annette and Mercedes have made flower crowns for each of the former Lions who could be in attendance today, and there is a distinct joy in seeing Dedue wreathed in jonquil blossoms as they prepare to step forward, arm in arm, and in seeing prickly Felix with carnations adorning his brow, ever by his side as a sword, not a shield.

"I can't wait to get this over with," the latter grumbles, but when Byleth thanks him for his consideration, he merely blushes and doesn't correct her. Such is her power, he thinks wryly, but it's the truth.

Then the doors are opening, and together, they step forward, moving as one as Annette and Mercedes prepare to amplify their words with magic.

"Good people of Fódlan!" he calls, and below, the people cheer and his heart fills. "This month more than any other, we all hope for love. With the rains come the roses, and with them come the affections of friends and lovers. Bearing this in mind, I come to you to celebrate the announcement of a union sanctioned by both church and state in six months' time, in accordance with the engagement I have kept quiet until every one of you has begun to heal from the grim tides of war, I will be wed to Archbishop Byleth, without whom I, and many of you, would not be here today."

For the briefest of moments, there is confusion. Then, one by one, the crowd comprehends, and the cheers are like nothing else he has ever heard before.

Byleth steps forward, and once more, the people hush. Such is her presence, he has always believed, and there is no room for anything but love in his heart.

"I am not one for speeches," she says. "Instead, I prefer action. To you, I promise that nothing will come before my duty to each and every one of you, in spirit and in law. And to His Majesty..."

She turns to him, and only then does he see that there is a wetness to her lashes that matches the tears welling in his own eye. "A garland crafted by my own hand, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. May I have the opportunity to make you a thousand more."

If he lands a soft kiss on her forehead as she adjusts the white roses she's placed on his head, then no one can begrudge him that.


	19. health

As the days creep closer to what Dimitri knows will be the happiest day of his life, so too do his myriad other responsibilities. It's not that he actively avoids thinking of them - unlike most of his friends and comrades, he enjoys the monotony of administrative work - but when he can dream of having Byleth by his side in an official capacity, as a wife rather than an ally, it becomes hard to think of anything else.

The Blue Sea Moon is well underway by this point, though, and with that comes a far more pleasant task than negotiating trade between the territories that were once separate countries. Flayn has made a point of summering in Enbarr now that such a thing is possible, and though she has been there for almost a month, Ferdinand and Dorothea working in tandem to show her every sight that she has missed, her birthday fast approaches.

Even if Seteth were not the man that Dimitri is trying to impress in lieu of Jeralt, he would make the journey to celebrate such a valued friend.

Gilbert had chartered a route for the Lions to take, but work had called for him, and he would not be joining the excursion. Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid had all been content to travel to Fhirdiad and meet those who were there to begin their journey, though, and it's with great joy that Dimitri greets them now.

He does not suffer from a lack of their company, his friends and closest companions, but neither can shake the memory of time wasted in his own private mourning. To have them all by his side despite the horrors each and every one of them has faced is a gift he will never squander again.

Again, there is no need to stop at Garreg Mach, as bitter as that may make him at the thought of further time spent away from his beloved - she has traveled down with Seteth, who understandably would prefer to be by Flayn's side as swiftly as possible.

A shade of his younger self tugs at Dimitri's memory like a child at their mother's skirts, begging him to remember what he once was, the person he had once been before he fought the tide of overwhelming grief and anger and came out the other side stronger for it.

Jealousy. What a fool he had been, to begrudge the comfort Byleth had taken because it did not come from him, as if he had been in any way equipped to help when he had suffered from his own demons. To look back at one's past self with shame is the truest sign of growth, he knows, but by no means does that make the memories any easier to swallow.

Sylvain is weaving a story to his right, one that is almost certainly an exaggeration of his own experiences, but when it comes to the remaining son of Gautier, it;s hard to tell whether even the most outlandish tales are fact or fiction. Between them, Felix is huffing and rolling his eyes in much the same manner that he's held for over a decade, but his mouth is curled into a fondly exasperated smile almost against his will.

To his left, Ingrid and Dedue speak of everything from battle tactics to food, and Dimitri's heart swells at the sight of them finally beginning to get along. Ingrid's passion and Dedue's dedication are two sides of the same coin, after all.

Behind him, Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes are locked in a storytelling contest that manages to delight, inspire, and frighten all at once. It sparks a thrill in his chest, the talent of his Lions, and he has never been more glad to know each and every one of them.

If Byleth was here, this might have been the closest thing to perfect that he has come in a very long time.

Still, if he were asked to trade this moment for one with her, he would have to decline.

He thinks she would be proud of him for that.


	20. approach

Three months. Dimitri has begun to learn that patience is not, perhaps, one of his virtues the closer time crawls to the wedding, but three months feels like a curse all its own.

Goddess, he wants so desperately. At Flayn's gathering (the last time he has seen her), Byleth had never been free for long. Between the others of Faerghus descent, some of whom had gone even longer than he had without seeing her, and those scattered few from Adrestia and Leicester regions who had stood by their side, it had been a wonder that he'd seen her at all. Certainly, he had thought that he could enjoy time with his dearest friends; he still does not wish to become the sort of person that must cling to their beloved in order to function, considering how set he has become on self-reliance. Still, when he found himself unable to steal more than a quiet moment or two, he had begun to regret his earlier confidence.

There is more work to do here in the Horsebow Moon, however. A king's duties do not cease simply because he _longs_, no matter how convenient he might have found that, and the Leicester Alliance Founding Day begins in barely more than a week.

They may be one country now, the United Kingdom of Fódlan, but that does not mean he wishes to ignore tradition and culture. Derdriu is a pleasant city either way, and he's sure he will enjoy himself.

"Does this excitement have anything to do with the appearance of our former professor?" Mercedes asks as they close in on the former capital, her voice as sweet as any pastry, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to choke on his own spit.

"Maybe he just wants to be a master of ceremonies, Mercie," Annette chimes in, as sly as he's ever heard her, and he's surely regretting adopting her as a sister figure.

"Oh, in preparation for his own, you mean?" Mercedes is outright laughing now, and he would call them cruel if he didn't love them so much. "Don't worry, Your Majesty, I'm sure Byleth will love you even more when you mess up and trip over a word!"

"You could at least pretend that you're cheering for me!" His voice is more of an indignant squawk at this point, and this more than anything is what sends them into further fits of giggles. "It's like the two of you want to see me embarrass myself in front of the entirety of the continent."

"Just a little bit," Mercedes says.

"Think about how I feel doing it every day!" Annette adds. "But I'll consider changing my vote if you let me help you write your vows."

"You're awful." Still, Dimitri caves there on the placid road to Derdriu, just as he has every time his friends request something meaningful of them.

If that means more of his Lions on the altar with them, so much the better.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @kingblaiddyd


End file.
